


Entry Level

by Waynesgrayson



Series: It's in the Job Description [1]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Fluff and Humor, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-12 05:57:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7088032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waynesgrayson/pseuds/Waynesgrayson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shaw works at the makeup counter. Root is her one and only customer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Entry Level

**Author's Note:**

> I started this show a few months ago and I’m all caught up now. But everything is sad so I thought I’d try my hand at something light!
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy!

Shaw watches Harold with mischief in her eyes and a teasing smirk pulling at her lips. It was almost too easy, though she suspects he allows her to rile him up half the time.

Something to pass the boredom of working retail.

Speaking of which, she shouldn't be over in the suit section, her post is up a bit at the makeup counter, but so far the only people there is a mom with three bratty children who can probably be heard from all corners of the store, and an elderly woman who resembles Betty White. They don't need a spray of perfume, and if they do, they can eat her.

So here she is, leaning against Harold's counter, glass bottle held loosely in her hand as she threatens to mess up his perfect tie display. Not her most creative or best threat, but it gets the job done. Especially since Harold has glanced at the tie display more times in the last five minutes than he as all day. It makes her feel good.

“Must you do this every time we share a shift, Miss Shaw?” Harold says, tone miffed. His face is doing that twitching thing it does when he knows he’s being teased, but feels like he should be on guard nonetheless.

Her smile grows.

She tilts her head to the side, “Why yes, Finch,” she drawls, “ Be honest, you live for this. I save you from drowning in silk ties and cufflinks.”

He narrows his eyes, but can't hide the slight upturn of lip as they square off in a staring contest.

Shaw likes Harold. At first, he came off stiff and sanctimonious, still does. But he can keep up with her mentally and verbally, and turns a blind eye when she stuffs her bag with samples. She considers him a friend.

She frowns when Harold breaks contact, his eyes looking past her and growing suspiciously brighter.

“Ah,” he smirks, giving her his attention back.

Shaw raises an eyebrow, “What, your regular back?” she scoffs, “Honestly, how many times in one month can a dude get fitted. Talk about subtle.”

“Oh no, not my regular,” Harold says, a brief look of embarrassment flashing over his features as his cheeks turn a faint red, and Shaw feels her smile fade and her eyes widen, just a fracture.

She looks over her shoulder and sees _her_ sitting at the makeup counter. Blue dress, high heels, and a coffee. Lips smirking around the straw as she pins Shaw with her gaze.

Shaw turns back to Harold and there must be something on her face because he’s the one smirking now. She regards him for a moment before leaning in to hiss, “Not a damn word.” She even waves the bottle at him for extra measure.

But that doesn’t seem to bother him as much as her earlier threats of tie destruction, because his smirk never wavers and the amused glint in his eyes only gets brighter still.

She barely holds back the urge to flip him off.

She turns away from him and in the process slaps on her retail smile, which isn’t all that great, a strained smile with a hint of teeth, before walking over to Root.

Root. Her one and only repeat customer.

Shaw can admit she's horrible for the job. She doesn't really care about the customers or what they want. She has no idea what's going on half the time and often spends entire shifts hiding under Harold's counter while playing games on her phone and eating greasy abominations.

But yet, here she still is a year and a half later, and here is Root. Sitting at Shaw’s stool, waiting for Shaw to stop dicking around and do her makeup with that damned look on her face.

“I'm glad to see you taking a break, Sameen.” Root says once Shaw’s in ear shoot, crossing her legs. Shaw adverts her eyes. “Don't want you working too hard.”

“Yeah, well, they don't pay me enough to stand here all day and spray soccer moms with…” Shaw trails off and looks at the bottle she's been holding for the better part of her shift, having honestly no idea what it is, before rolling her eyes, “‘Sugar Plum Daisies’.” The name even leaves a bad taste in her mouth.

Root hums, her expression turning interested, “Is that what that is? It's nice. Maybe I'll pick up a bottle.”

It comes out more like a question and is paired with a teasing upturn of lip, and Shaw scoffs but is now fighting a smile.

Damn Root.

She puts the bottle down, unconcerned that the bottle is in fact glass, and peers down at Root through narrowed eyes. The woman stares right back, blinking slowly as she takes another sip from her coffee.

“What do you want?”

“Wow, not very friendly today, are we?”

Shaw doesn't say anything to that, merely raises an eyebrow.

Roots expression turns innocent, “I'm here to get my makeup done. Why else would I be here?”

And there it is. Shaw clenches her jaw and continues to stare at Root like if she looks long enough the woman’s thoughts and secrets will be made apparent to her.

She could say so much, yet they both know she won't. Won't acknowledge that there is something between them that goes beyond the standard customer and employee relationship.

“Is that all?” Shaw tries, because even though she’s no good at whatever it is transpiring between them, she knows she wants to try.

And it’s good enough for Root, always is. Her face brightening as her smirk returns. Shaw finds herself a little breathless.

“Yes,” Root says, her voice soft as she slides a lipstick across the table towards Shaw. The word is packed with intentions and things Root won’t say, at least not now. Shaw picks up the lipstick, ducking her head a bit when Root leans across the table, eyes boring into Shaw’s as she parts her lips.

Shaw thinks, as she applies number 0480 to Roots lips - which should honestly just be called red for crying out loud - about how they'll do this again next week or, if she’s lucky, in a few days. She thinks about how before she leaves Root will not so subtly leave her number behind. Then how she’ll look at it until the numbers are a mantra in her head, and how she'll throw away the slip of paper with the odd feeling of longing sitting in her gut. How she'll tease Harold for not climbing Mr.Reese, yet won't admit to how much she looks forward to Roots visits.

Yet, she also knows Root will be there, waiting for her, no matter how long it takes. That she'll look at Shaw with that impossible look in her eyes, like Shaw is everything she's ever looked for and somehow more. That she'll flirt enough for the two of them and make Shaw feel like no one ever has.

And isn’t that something?

So she applies the lipstick to Roots parted lips, their eyes locked as she works slowly, carefully, and secretly looks forward to next time.

**Author's Note:**

> It's small, but I wanted to do something. I hope you guys enjoyed that! 
> 
> Not beta read.
> 
> https://waynesgrayson.tumblr.com/


End file.
